100 Packages
by Subject to Change
Summary: Tommy, Claude, and Carl. They wake up in a dark warehouse, a voice comes on and tells them he's poisoned each. Though there's hope for one, in the form of an antidote hidden in one of a hundred packages scattered throughout Liberty.
1. Package 1

**A/N: I'm done re-writing chapter three, this new one is the final one. I did another very small edit at the very end of chapter two, touching up the hastily written ending a bit. Sorry for all the edits and deletions, it's just been tough to pick up where i left off. **

Tommy:

Tommy's eyes popped open to darkness. His head felt like a truck had backed over it and he had no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered was turning in for the night back at his mansion then everything got a little hazy. He sat up, rubbing the back of his head.

"Hello?" his voice echoed as he called out.

There was a rustling sound a few feet away; causing Tommy to reach for his gun, only to find it wasn't there. He swore under his breath as his hands searched the concrete floor for anything to use as a weapon. Someone coughed, making Tommy stop dead in his tracks.

There were a few moments of silence until finally whoever coughed finally spoke up. "A-Anybody here?"

Tommy waited a few minutes, trying to figure out what was going on and where he was. "Yeah," he mumbled. "Who're you and where the hell are we?"

The voice paused. "No clue where we are," it said. "And the name's Carl Johnson. You?"

The name didn't ring a bell to Tommy, not that the situation would've been any better if it did. "Tommy Vercetti." he said quietly. "Tell me I'm not the only one who can't see shit."

"You're not." Carl said. There was another rustling sound, which caused Tommy to wonder who or what was making it. "What the hell's going on?" Carl asked, a small bit of panic in his voice.

There was a grunt followed by a cough. "Was that you?" Tommy called out to Carl.

"No." Carl whispered. "I'm gonna take a guess and say that it wasn't you either."

"Right." Tommy whispered back. "Alright I've had enough of this!" he yelled. "What the hell's going on? Who's doing this and where are we?"

The row of lights on the ceiling flicked on one at a time. Tommy looked around to see the black man he guessed to be Carl, and a large empty warehouse. A man in a black leather jacket came up between Carl and Tommy, startling them both.

"Jesus-Damn!" both yelled, taking a few steps back.

Before any of the three could begin talking a static sound filled the area. "All very good questions Mr. Vercetti." a deep and distorted voice came from above, though nothing could be seen. "You're in a warehouse in Atlantic Quays-"

Tommy remembered that district, but it was in Liberty city. "What the hell are you talking about? We're in Vice City!" Tommy noticed both Carl's and black jacket's faces as they looked at him like he was crazy.

"What're you talking about, man?" Carl said. "We're in San Andreas."

"You're both wrong," the voice from above cackled. "You're in Liberty City."

"But…how?" Tommy mumbled to himself.

"There is no time to ask questions you don't need to know the answer to." the voice said. "You are all here because I've deemed you the most dangerous and evil people ever to live in the country." The three looked at each other in disbelief. "You've each been injected with a small amount of a highly rare poison. Do not waste your remaining time going to the hospital, it will take them well over an hour of your life expectancy to figure out what it is I have given you."

"So what," Carl yelled. "What's the point of this, then. For us to sit here and wait to die?"

The voice laughed. "There's still hope, for one of you. I've scattered one hundred packages around the city, one of these has the antidote. Though, there is only enough for one of you."

The three looked at each other again, all of them sizing the other up. "So you want us to wander aimlessly through the streets in search of a package?" Tommy asked the ceiling.

"While that may be a bit more interesting to watch," the voice said. "It wouldn't give you much hope, would it? Instead if you each check your back pocket you'll notice a beeper." they each pulled theirs out, Tommy's was a small blue one, Claude's a fat red one, and Carl's a thin green one. "Every twenty minutes the location of a package will be displayed, good luck Tommy, Carl, and Claude as you each only have forty eight hours to live." there was a crackle and the warehouse was silent.

Tommy looked at the other two, wondering what to do. There was an uncomfortable tension in the air as each stared at one another, all of them waiting to see what the other did. Finally there was a tone from each beeper. 'The Red Light District, Sex Club Seven.'

Claude:

Claude looked at the other two, smiled, and took off for the large door at the end of the warehouse. There was a scream behind him, Claude ignored it and pushed through the rusted over door. Outside it was pouring down rain, but Claude only concerned himself with the passing perennial. The driver screamed bloody murder as Claude thrust his hand through the side window, ripping him out onto the street and getting in the car.

Of all the places the first package had to be, it had to be in a mafia run club. There really wasn't a person in Liberty City who didn't, at one point or another, have something to do with the mafia. But Claude's relationship with them ended bloody, which caused them to want him dead. Now he was being forced into their hands to save his life.

He replayed the previous night in his head, trying to figure out how he could have gotten into this. He had spent the night with a hooker at his home in Witchita Gardens. Nothing out of the ordinary, so how the hell did he wind up in a warehouse in Atlantic Quays with two other people? There wasn't time to think as his destination was in sight.

The perennial skidded to a stop in front of Sex Club Seven. Claude hopped out and slid over the hood, landing on the sidewalk and bursting through the front door in one movement. The club had seen better days, its red carpets stained, the blue wallpaper peeling, the blue smoke that hung in the air wasn't even supposed to be there, and the dancers/hookers were increasingly ugly with every day.

Four big guys in black suits sat upon stools at the bar, each staring at Claude. In fact the whole club was staring at him.

"H-hey, isn't that the mute!" one of them yelled. It was inevitable, Claude figured, that he'd be recognized. Rather than just the four pulling out weapons, though, half of the club pulled out a firearm. Apparently the bounty on his head had increased since his last trip to this area.

Claude wasted no time in acting, he rushed the nearest of the four mafia soldiers, taking him off of the stool and over the bar. The rest of the club paused, waiting to see who popped up. There was a muffled gunshot then two more as the bartender leapt down to lend a helping hand. The whole club was at a standstill, weapons aimed at the bar.

Carl:

Carl watched as Claude made a beeline for the warehouse door. "Son of a bitch!" he coughed as Tommy wrapped his arms around Carl's neck, why, he didn't know. He stomped his boot down on Tommy's foot, whirled around and brought his fist up to Tommy's chin. "Asshole! What the hell's the matter with you?" he didn't wait for Tommy's response.

Outside it was pouring down rain, making Carl wish he was wearing something more than a tank top and blue jeans. A quick scan of the area and Carl noticed a cop car sitting all by it's lonesome at the gate of the sawmill across the street.

"Arrgh!" Tommy came up behind Carl, landing a blow to the back of his head. Carl stumbled forward a few feet before tripping on the curb and falling into the grass. "It's kill or be killed, Carl." Tommy growled, bringing his foot up to Carl's face.

The cop car across the street was apparently not alone, as both found out when the siren started up and the car backed into Tommy, sending him to the ground. Two cops got out, each toting a pistol. "Freeze!" one yelled at Tommy.

The other went to help Carl. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked, bending down to help him up.

"I am now." Carl mumbled, taking the cop's hand and twisting it until everyone heard a snap. The cop screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his wrist, while Carl stripped him of his weapons and got into the squad car, leaving them to deal with Tommy. "Red Light district, Red Light District." Carl kept repeating to himself.

This was a race against time, and each other. Carl was trying to remember what had happened to him, but all that came to mind was his falling asleep in one of Madd Dogg's bedrooms. His thoughts were cut short as another squad car smashed into the back of his.

"Didn't take ya'll long." Carl said to himself, steering onto the street he remembered the club to be on. Of course he quickly regretted it as more cops were speeding towards him from the other direction. "Shit!" he screamed, turning the car into a parked perennial. The perennial didn't stop Carl at all, though, as both cars smashed through the club's front wall.

When Carl finally managed to peel his eyes open he noticed Claude as he hopped over the half destroyed bar, a white package in hand. "Shit…" Carl mumbled, spilling out of the squad car and onto the debris-covered floor. He pulled out the .45, he had taken from the cop, and pointed it at Claude. "The package, give it to me!" he said, standing up.

Claude's right hand had been out of Carl's sight, which Claude used to his advantage. He nodded and held the package out for Carl to take. Carl reluctantly moved forward, his gun still trained on Claude. He put his hand on the white paper of the package, which was Claude's signal to bring the 9mm up and pump two shots into Carl.

Carl fell back to the ground, holding the blood soaked patch of his stomach. He watched as Claude tore open the package, only to find nothing. Carl smiled at his frustration. Then, the lights began to dim, slowly his vision began to blur and he blacked out.


	2. No breaks in the action

Carl:

Carl's eyes popped open to a bright light. After a minute of adjusting his vision focused and his other senses seemed to flood back all at once. There was an ear-piercing siren right on top of him. Where was he now? Had all of that been a dream?

"He's up!" a voice called out, but it was distant, almost too far away to make out. "Sir, you've been shot in the stomach-" had his eyes really adjusted? "You've been strapped down to the stretcher to help keep you in place, please just remain calm!"

"You sound like you need to calm down more than I do." Carl mumbled. Even his own voice was faint. Shot? Now he remembered, Claude. Two shots in the gut at Sex Club Seven, that asshole had tricked him. Something Carl promised himself wouldn't happen again.

Carl was more than happy to lie back until another memory hit him, he was poisoned, and he had no idea how long he'd been knocked out. An odd beeping began to call out from under him. The beeper! Another package! Carl struggled to move his arms, trying desperately to get a hold of the beeper.

"Sir, sir," the voice called out again, only this time it was much closer. "Please, stay still!" finally a face appeared out of the fog. A chubby man with a black goatee in a white uniform sat over him, getting a syringe ready. "This'll help you relax." He said, flicking the syringe several times with his right index finger.

"No, you don't understand!" Carl screamed, writhing around as he tried to break free. "I need to get out of here!" his protests weren't enough to stop this paramedic, and Carl knew it was over.

It all happened in slow motion, the needle was an inch away from his arm when suddenly the front of the ambulance was reduced to half of its size and all that could be seen of the driver was his arm. The ambulance spun out of control, hitting all sorts of things Carl couldn't see from his current position. And then everything fell to the left, the ambulance had tipped onto its side.

Claude:

Every insult and swear word came to Claude's mind as he tossed the white paper to the floor of Sex Club Seven, but he never broke his silence. Instead he turned and ran through the padded red door marked 'Employees Only!' through the dirty white tiled kitchen, and out of the back door. He emerged to a familiar area, and memories of his first encounter with mob pimp Luigi Gotterelli came floating back up to the front of his mind. But now wasn't the time to reminisce about events long passed, the sirens in the distance were enough to tell him it was time to go.

As he rounded the corner, into the alleyway he had walked a million times, a police officer began advancing toward him, a pump action shotgun in hand. "Stop where you are!" the cop demanded, firing a shot into the air.

Claude brought his pistol up and took several potshots, backing away as he did so. Two of the shots just hit the alley walls, the other three shot past the cop, but one got lucky and landed in the poor officer's chest. There was a brief flicker of regret in Claude's mind as he hurried to the metal stairs that led to the club's roof, regret for not grabbing the cop's shotgun. There probably wouldn't be time to grab any other guns in this two-day escapade of violence across the city.

Making it to the top of the stairs Claude stopped, taking a quick breath and trying to think of the best way to get out of the area. The building to the left was too tall to climb onto, and with no windows to climb into; the right way was his only option. Walking up the ramp Claude planned his next course of action, he had to time it just right or he'd be stuck over the alleyway between the club and the next building. Taking a running leap he landed onto the roof over the alleyway and without taking a second to ponder his actions he leapt again, landing on the blue roof of the building around the corner from the club.

Traffic was backed up, Claude noticed as he walked to the edge of the roof. As he ran his fingers through his brown hair, trying to think of how he was going to get down without breaking his legs, a green Bobcat caught his attention. Taking a few deep breaths and closing his eyes Claude leapt off of the building, feeling weightless for a moment before smacking the bed of the Bobcat like a sack of bricks.

"Oh my god!" the female driver screamed, turning around to see what had fallen into the back of her truck. "What the hell was-" she shut up the second she saw Claude's pistol pointed in her face. He motioned the pistol for her to punch the gas, and she did without so much as a word.

Tommy:

Tommy stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, both hands on his knees, gasping for air. "I'm too old for this." He spat out, trying to mentally blame the poison for taking the wind out of him. Back in the day a run from Atlantic Quays to Chinatown wouldn't have taken such a toll on him, age and all the illegal activities were starting to catch up with him, whether he accepted it or not. He wouldn't have even made it to Chinatown if the cops weren't too busy calling backup and licking their wounds to notice he had slipped away.

An ambulance flew past him, sirens blaring, heading towards the direction of Sex Club Seven. Maybe those two had killed each other off? Tommy could only hope.

A taxi pulled up next to him. "Need a ride sir?" the taxi driver was foreign and every word was sounded out slowly, like he had learned the language just that day.

Tommy smiled, getting into the passenger seat. "I'll be taking this." He growled, grabbing the driver by his throat with his left hand, he reached across and opened the driver's side door with his right. "I'll be sure to fill er' up before I bring it back." He said, pushing the driver out of the taxi and sliding into the driver's seat himself.

No time to waste. Tommy hit the gas pedal so hard it almost buckled under the pressure. By now the other two had to be dead, all he had to do was swoop in, kill a few cops, and grab the package. The plans were cut short when a muffled beep came from his back pocket. He ripped the blue hunk of plastic from his pocket to see the words: 'Harwood, 8-Ball's bomb shop' scroll across the thin screen.

Tommy hissed through his teeth and shoved the beeper back into his pocket. Harwood? He shuttered, there were nothing but bad memories in Harwood for Tommy Vercetti... but it was his life over his mental health. The only problem was he didn't know what or where 8-Ball's bomb shop was. He clicked his tongue in thought, Harwood isn't that big, he decided. Quickly he made a u-turn, pulling up behind a green Bobcat. "What the?" he cocked an eyebrow when he spotted Claude lying down in the back of the truck, holding a pistol to the driver's neck.

It didn't take Claude long to notice Tommy was trailing him. He turned around and aimed the pistol at the taxi, shooting twice; both smacked the windshield but missed Tommy.

Tommy ducked down, keeping only the very top of his head above the steering wheel. The truck turned left. Meaning Claude was heading to Harwood as well, it only made sense. Tommy pulled the taxi up alongside of the truck. He quietly wished he had a gun before ramming the truck over into the next lane. The driver was good, she pulled up onto the sidewalk, just missing an oversized fish van.

The truck sped up, getting in front of Tommy. Claude sat up again and took another shot at the taxi, this time the bullet hit Tommy in the right arm, causing him to swerve into the left lane. Tommy kept his head down as he passed the truck. When the taxi was back in front Tommy slammed on the brakes. The driver really _WAS_ good; she saw the move coming and swerved, and to her demise, and Tommy's dismay as he watched Claude bail out of the back of the truck and hit the road, the driver smashed into the front of an ambulance, sending the vehicle onto its side, the truck somehow crushed under it.

"Son of a bitch!" Tommy yelled, hitting the gas and turning into a sloppy u-turn, sloppy because he pulled up onto the sidewalk and grazed the lightpole, scratching the bright yellow paint off of the passenger's door. "You're dead." he growled, pushing the gas pedal down as hard as it would go while steering towards Claude.

Claude looked up, wide eyed when he saw the dented yellow cab speeding toward him. Quickly he lifted his pistol and let off two more shots, one hitting the front right tire, the side of the car quickly exploded into sparks as the car went down onto the rim. The second flew through the windshield, tearing through Tommy's left shoulder.

The cab abruptly turned, nearly becoming part of the wreck between the ambulance and the bobcat, and smashed into a police cruiser. Tommy swore as he sat up, his head having smashed into the steeringwheel. "Oh great-"

"Don't fucking move!" one out of the four cops that had shown up out of nowhere, though most likely from the police station across the street, and surrounded the cab screamed, placing his shotgun in Tommy's face. "Hands on your head!"

Tommy debated mentioning Claude, but he doubted it would really help his case, he noticed Claude wasn't in view anymore. Reluctantly he put his hands on his head.


	3. Say hello to 8Ball ladies

Claude:

Claude popped his head around the ambulance once more, still unable to believe it. The last people he expected to save his life, the cops, and yet there they were, arresting that Tommy guy. Oh sure he would've been arrested, too, if he hadn't bolted into the hospital parking lot when he saw the first cruiser, but still...now wasn't the time to think about life's small victories, he pulled the beeper out of his back pocket, checking to make sure he had seen the next location and it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him. The small black text still flashed 'Harwood, 8-Ball's bomb shop'. Claude's lucky day or what?

He looked around the corner once more, watching as three of the cop cruisers sped off, probably to some other crime, a lone cruiser, Vercetti in the back, pulled into the police station next to the hospital. The coast was clear, or as clear as it would be with people now flooding out of their apartment buildings to look at the wreckage in the middle of the road. Claude looked at the road once more, no vehicle was going to come through here, and even so he'd have to mow down the crowd to get through. He frowned, moving to the driver's side of the ambulance. It was the only vehicle around that wasn't being watched, what other choice did he have?

That's what he told himself, mentally of course, while he pulled himself up into the driver's seat of the ambulance. Within seconds of shutting the door he had the ambulance hotwired, you did have to be fast in Liberty city after all. He hit the gas, pulling out of the hospital parking lot and onto the road, nearly hitting an onlooker as he hit the gas and sped off over the hill into saint marks. 8-Ball's bomb shop…8-Ball…there were rumors he was the one who had set up the car bomb that the mob had attempted to kill Claude with, and Claude believed them. Now would be the time for 8-Ball to pay him back.

After a minute of relaxing speeding Claude pulled the ambulance into the car dealership next to 8-Ball's shop. He grabbed his gun off of the passenger seat and hopped out of the ambulance, hitting the ground in a crouch that he didn't get out of as he began running to the building 8-Ball worked out of.

"Alright cool man," 8-Ball's voice came from around the corner. Claude pressed himself up against the wall a few feet away from 8-Ball. "Now listen, that shit is powerful so make sure you're more than a few feet away when it goes or else BAM, sautéed Cipriani."

Cipriani? Not that short little bastard Toni Cipriani?

"Yeah, yeah, I don't need you to tell me what to do 8-Ball; I get enough of that from my ma!" Claude heard the sound of gravel moving under car tires.

Claude waited until the sound was barely audible before he moved out of his hiding place, gun stuck out in front of him as he ran towards 8-Ball, who was still watching Cipriani's car as it left.

"What the fuck!" 8-Ball yelled as Claude wrapped his left arm around his chest and placed the pistol in his right hand to 8-Ball's temple. "Who in the hell? Man you have no idea who you're fucking with!" Claude whirled 8-Ball around, bringing him face to face with his attacker. At first 8-Ball's eyes widened in horror before an odd calm came over them. "Shit, it's just you." He brushed Claude's hands off of his jacket. "You can't just tap me on the shoulder?" he smiled. "It's good to see you brother, heard you've been up to no good."

Claude smirked and nodded. 8-Ball was Claude's only friend in prison, the only friend for a while when he started his crusade against the Columbian cartel. Why should things be different now? It was just business, just business as usual in Liberty City.

"So what're you here for man?" 8-Ball asked, half mockingly, half serious. "Just shitting you man, come on in take a load off." 8-Ball patted Claude on the shoulder and turned, walking inside his workshop.

Claude began to follow then stopped abruptly when he remembered what he was here for. He sprinted inside, into the smell of gunpowder, oil, and metal. The walls were covered with guns and rusty tools; the furniture was a mix of workshop benches and couches. Claude ran to the closest workshop bench and began tearing it apart, looking for a pencil and paper.

8-Ball hopped up from the old couch he was sitting. "What the hell are you doing, man?" he yelled, rushing over to stop Claude.

Claude, having found what he was looking for, scribbled a sentence and shoved it into 8-Ball's hands.

'No time to explain looking for small white package help me!!!' 8-ball's eyebrows lifted then fell back to their proper place as a concerned look came across his face.

"Shit…Cipriani was snooping around while I was working on his car…he left carrying some package with him, I didn't think much about it, I figured it was coke, he's been into that lately…you don't think?" 8-Ball sighed. "Figures your ass is going to get me into some shit again!" he went back to the couch he had been sitting on and lifted the cushions, revealing that it was a storage locker, its contents were weapons. "Here." 8-Ball tossed him an Uzi. "He's headed for the docks, some shit to do with the triad," Claude put on a knowing smirk, Cipriani and the Triad would always be warring. "We'll take that banshee in the car show room, you drive." He was carrying an AK-47. Now that his hands were healed up Claude was looking forward to seeing 8-Ball in action.

Carl:

Carl awoke to the low hum of many voices talking. He opened his eyes and let out a yell, the paramedic who had seemed to want nothing more than to silence him with a needle was lying right next to him, the needle lodged in the poor guy's temple. Better him than me, Carl thought, sitting up, noticing right away that his stomach was still bleeding profusely. He looked around, noticing right away that the back doors of the ambulance were gone, lying on the road a few yards away.

"The…hell…happened?" he asked no one in particular, now making his way through the wreckage of the ambulance and out onto the street. He jumped out of the ambulance, stumbling onto the pavement and falling down onto his knees.

"Oh shit!" he heard a voice, but it was far away. Wasn't it? "Get a doctor from the hospital, this guy's 'bout to die!" those were the last words Carl heard. The rest of his body hit the road and he was out, a pool of blood already forming under him.

8-Ball:

8-Ball could already hear the sounds of gunfire as Claude sped past the SUPA-SAVE. How in the hell had he gotten into this? One minute he was saying hello to the most wanted man in Liberty City, the next he's tooled up and in a banshee, speeding towards certain death.

"Friends like these." 8-Ball muttered while he re-checked his AK.

Claude hit the hand break, spinning the car around to a stop in front of the docks entrance. He nodded to 8-Ball and jumped out of the car, apparently too excited to open his door. 8-ball opened his door, slamming it shut with his foot as Claude came up beside him.

"Watch out for Cipriani's car, the stuff I packed into it is extremely volatile one shot it goes, man, if it blows we all go with it." 8-Ball said, watching as several black suited mobsters took cover behind a perennial while four purple jumpsuited triad soldiers shot at them with an assortment of automatic weapons. "Let's do it brother." 8-Ball said, falling into a crouch and moving in, his AK aimed and ready.

Claude ran past 8-Ball, the Uzi blasting at the mafia soldiers. The first half of the clip went between hitting the perennial and the first mob soldier's chest and legs. 8-Ball stood up thinking: no time for secrecy I guess. While Claude took care of the mob soldiers 8-Ball took on the triad, firing three shots, the first smacking into the nearest head, the second into the same man's leg, and the third into the second's chest. A group of bullets came back at him, tearing through the wind and rain and one straight into 8-Ball's right thigh.

"Shit!" he yelled, falling to one knee. He regained composure, the fury inside of him building. Within seconds he was standing and opening up the AK, letting the remaining ammunition rip apart the Triad group. He didn't realize they all, mob and triad soldiers, were dead until his second magazine hit the soaked pavement. "Haven't seen action like this in a long time, man." 8-Ball exhaled, slamming another magazine into his AK. "Well lead on man." He said to the stunned looking Claude.

Claude dropped his empty Uzi as they passed the dead triad soldiers, exchanging the spent weapon for two .45s. He began prying each from the destroyed body of a triad soldier when his head snapped up as a bullet grazed his right arm, nearly taking off 8-Ball's family jewels before it hit a nearby trailer. Claude stood up, both guns blazing as he ran towards the new group of mob soldiers.

8-Ball pulled up his AK and began firing short bursts of five. The first five hit the air or the ground, the second got lucky when two bullets slammed through the lead mob soldier's torso. "Ha-haa!" 8-Ball yelled, and began running to join Claude in the rush.

Claude fired three times from each pistol; all six shots found their marks in the three remaining mob soldiers' bodies. Knees, heads, and chests were nothing but smoking holes on each victim. When 8-Ball finally stopped behind Claude in a bloody puddle of rain they were halfway through the docks. "Still no Cipriani!" he yelled above the surrounding gunfire. "The hell is he hiding-" almost as if he had been waiting for the introduction the black mafia sentinel, 8-Ball recognized as the one he had worked on only minutes ago, pulled around the corner next to the fuel containers of the building he and Claude were standing next to. "There!" 8-Ball pointed to the car. "Make sure you don't hit his car or we're all dead." Claude nodded.

Cipriani got out of the sentinel, already surrounded by his own men before his feet even hit the rain slicked pavement. "We're done here, everyone follow me!" the package 8-Ball had seen him leave with, the one Claude must've been looking for, was in his left hand, a stubby shotgun in his right. Cipriani turned, a shocked look formed on his face when he spotted Claude and then 8-Ball. "Kill the mute and that back stabbing asshole 8-Ball!" he fired the shotgun one handed while running backwards. The blast from the shotgun didn't reach either 8-Ball or Claude but the following bullets weren't from a short range weapon.

Claude grabbed 8-Ball by the shoulder and pulled him into the warehouse. There was a brief flash of the memory when he had once stood on the roof of while 8-Ball had stormed a Colombian Cartel drug ship. Both men thought that particular time was easier than this current siege they were in the middle of. Cop sirens suddenly pierced through the sound of rain and bullets.

"That's the last damn sound I wanted to hear!" 8-Ball yelled, punching the wall of the barren warehouse.

Tommy:

Tommy sat in the piss stained, shit smelling, dungeon that was the lone holding cell of the Portland police department, both hands planted firmly on his forehead as he tried to think of a way out of this.

"We just got a call," he could hear the cop's voice coming from down the hall. "There's some kind of war going down at the docks, those Leone pricks and the Triad are at it again!"

"It'll solve itself, they'll probably end up killing each other long before we get there." It was the voice of the chubby cop that had brought Tommy in from the wreck just outside.

"Those pricks aren't the reason we need to go check it out," Tommy heard the pleading tone of the other cop again. "The mute's there and that bald asshole 8-Ball-" 8-Ball, as in 8-Ball's bomb shop in Harwood? Tommy stood up and moved to the bars of his cell, hoping to hear the cops' conversation better. "If we could cash in the bounty on those two…damn I can only dream of what I'd buy."

"They have been wanted for a while…" the chubby cop paused, and Tommy could've sworn he heard the sounds of him sloppily munching down some unknown pastry. "All right kid, get on the radio and round everyone up, I'll stay here, hold down the fort as if were."

The other cop snorted and ran off out of Tommy's earshot. So Claude must've tracked down the package. How it got to the docks didn't matter to Tommy, all that mattered was getting there, a feat that would prove damn near impossible while he was stuck in this shit hole.

That's when a thought, no not a thought, a realization, came to Tommy's mind. He had been shot; he was bleeding from that particular wound, not to mention his forehead hurt like someone had beaten it with a pickaxe for an hour straight. It was his god given right to go to a hospital, wasn't it?

"Hey," he screamed, painfully wrapping his fist on the holding cell bars. "I'm dying here, I need medical attention!"

He heard the chubby cop grunt then the squeak of the unlucky chair he sat in as he stood up. "Hold on, you whiney cunt, hold on." He rounded the corner into the yellow bricked area of the holding cell. "What's all this about you dying, you look fine to me."

Tommy pressed himself into the bars. "I'm shot, look at my arms, they're bleeding like a menstruating hemophiliac! I need to go to the hospital-"

The cop smirked and shook his head. "Bullshit, you look fine to me." He began to turn away.

"Wait," Tommy hissed after him. "I know you don't want to go to the docks, right? And I know if you don't go you're going to be the laughing stock of the whole force, sitting here on your ass while your buddies are out shooting up the town, if you take me to the hospital you'll have a good reason, shit they may even give you some medal of compassion." He paused, knowing right away this pig was hooked.

The chubby cop didn't say anything for a few minutes, then slowly he turned toward Tommy, keys and handcuffs somehow in hand. "Alright, you got yourself a deal."

When the cell door slid open Tommy lunged onto the cop, taking him off guard and bringing him to the ground in a matter of seconds. The cop inhaled, ready to scream, Tommy brought his right fist down, smashing it into the cop's nose with a satisfying crunch. The cop shrieked and began writhing, both hands on his nose. Tommy brought his left fist down into the cop's throat, and that was it, the cop laid there gasping for air, one hand on his throat, the other on his nose.

"Teaches you not to underestimate Tommy Vercetti!" Tommy said in a smug and mocking tone. Quickly he robbed the cop of his belt and badge. After a minute of adjusting and cleaning the blood that had run down both of his arms, hiding the gun in the back of his jeans and the nightstick in his pant leg, Tommy dragged the dead cop into the holding cell, missing his over shirt so no one would notice him for a while. "Time to hit up the docks." He said to himself, putting the badge on his jeans, hoping to make sure he looked something like a plainclothes cop; it might open some doors for him later in the day.

"Hey, who are you?" a toothpick of a kid wearing a cop's uniform rushed up to Tommy just as he was leaving the holding area. "Never seen you around here before."

Tommy thought for a moment, kill this guy or use him to my advantage. "Name's…Lance…was just transferred from Vice City, part of a new division." He had to bite his cheek to keep from laughing. "Look now's not the time, uh-"

"Toby." The kid said.

"Right, Toby…now's not the time for introductions, I heard there was a shootout at the docks, we ought to get over there." Tommy paused, his right hand slowly going for the gun in his pants.

"Right, lemme just tell Baker that we're leaving-" Tommy's relief was short lived.

"No, he's uh…he said he was going out for some donuts, he'll be back in a bit, that shootout can't wait, right?" Tommy grabbed the kid by the shoulder and started out the door.

"You're probably right Lance, I'll drive." The kid rushed out into the rain, heading for the only cop cruiser in the parking lot not totaled. "Get in!" he yelled, opening the driver's side door.

Tommy smirked and nodded, this was going to be interesting.


	4. Package 2

Tommy:  
"Oh Jesus." Toby said breathlessly as Tommy slowed the cop cruiser to a halt just inside of the dock entrance.

Bodies of mobsters and Triad soldiers littered the pavement, an ocean of blood flooding from the corpses and mixing in the rain.

"Come on kid, this is Liberty, you've seen worse." Tommy grunted as he got out of the car, pistol in hand.

Claude was here, somewhere, the body count alone was enough to make Tommy certain of this. _Probably with the package too_.

"Y-Yeah." Toby stammered, getting out of the car.

"Let's go." Tommy said, rushing towards the sound of gunfire. A group of mobsters were gathered around a warehouse door, beating on it futilely.

"Freeze!" Toby yelled, much to Tommy's chagrin. The mobsters turned and Tommy noticed they were all toting one type of gun or another.

"Police!" Toby growled, holding his pistol in both hands. "Drop your wea-" the mobsters raised their guns.

In the blink of an eye Tommy's gun was up and firing while he took a few steps back. Four shots, one in the ground, the other in the gut of a mobster, the last two hit the warehouse.

"Lance!" Toby yelled, and for a minute Tommy wasn't sure what the kid was yelling about, until he remembered that was the name he had told him back at the police station. "Look o-" a shotgun blast to the chest ended his sentence early.

"Shit!" Tommy fired twice more before leaping over the hood of a mafia sentinel parked nearby and ducking down to reload his pistol.

Gunshots smacked into the sentinel, making Tommy cringe every time. How had he gotten into this shit? Why was he running around aimlessly looking for packages? Too busy wondering what he'd done in a past life to end up in this situation, he didn't notice that the gunshots had stopped.

"Claude, let's go, he can't have gotten far!" a deep voice yelled.

Peering over the hood Tommy sneered. "Claude!" he yelled, aiming the pistol over the hood of the sentinel and firing three quick shots.

Claude:

"I think something's going on out there." 8-Ball said, listening to the mobsters outside of the warehouse.

"Freeze!" a muffled voice yelled outside. "Police! Drop your wea-" the voice was cut off by a shotgun blast.

Claude and 8-Ball exchanged glances as more gunfire sounded up. "What do you think?" 8-Ball asked, looking from Claude to the door.

Claude only smirked and raised his uzi, motioning for 8-Ball to unlock the warehouse door.

"On three..." 8-Ball said, holding his AK in one hand while resting the other on the lock of the door. "One...two..." Claude gripped his Uzi tight as he moved closer to the door.

"Three!" 8-ball flipped open the lock and Claude kicked open the door.

A trio of mobsters were firing at somone taking cover behind a mafia sentinel. Easy picking for Claude. One squeeze of the trigger and the Uzi tore through their bodies, coupled with 8-Ball's AK, the men were dead and on the ground in a matter of seconds. None of them even had a chance to turn around and face their attackers.

Claude bent down to grab one of the dead mobster's pistols, figuring he'd need a new weapon sooner or later.

"Claude, let's go, he can't have gotten far!" 8-Ball yelled, referring to Cipriani, a split second before a gunshot cut him down.

"Claude!" someone yelled from behind.

Claude looked from his dead friend over to the mafia sentinel, and the grinning Tommy Vercetti taking cover behind it.

There was a brief moment where the two stood in the rain, staring at one another while 8-Ball bled to death on the wet pavement.

A flash of lightning and Claude started running, ducking his head down as Tommy let off several shots.

"Quit running, you're only going to die tired!" Tommy yelled, feet slapping on the pavement not far behind Claude.

For an old man, Vercetti was fast. Fast enough to keep up with Claude as he sped through the docks, hopping fences, weaving around trucks, killing the occasional Triad (There was still a turf war going on after all).

The chase ended abruptly as Toni Cipriani appeared from around the corner of a building, bleeding his heart out onto the rain slick pavement of the dock. In his bloody hands was a red and white package, similar to the one Claude had found in Sex Club Seven.

"Ma..." Toni moaned as he stumbled toward the stunned duo. "I'm...sorry..." he fell to his knees and looked up, only now seeming to notice that he had an audience for his final moments of life. "He...has my ma...said...not to let you...have...this..." the package fell from his hand. "...I'm..." he fell onto his face.

"Who, who told you to do this!." Tommy knelt down next to Cipriani. If he could get some answers, find out who'd done all of this, maybe he could get to the antidote all the more quickly.

Using Tommy's momentary distraction, Claude grabbed the package from the ground. The paper was wet and bloody...but something definitely inside this time. Without another second's wait, Claude ripped the paper off. A clue?

There was locker key with a little paper attached. '**Staunton Subway Station. Locker number seventeen**.'

Claude dropped the paper and started off. Three steps and a sharp pain burst in the back of his head, driving him to the ground.

"I'll be taking this, thank you very much." Tommy's voice fell on deaf ears, Claude was already unconscious.

Carl:

Carl's eyes popped open to a bright light. "Damn," he moaned weakly. "Not again..." he moved his hand up to rub his eyes, noticing instantly he had a needle in his arm and a clip attached to a heart monitor on his finger. "What the hell?"

The day's events started to flood back. Waking up in a dark warehouse with Tommy...fighting Tommy after being informed he was poisoned...getting shot...being in the ambulance...then things started to go grey.

Someone must have taken him to the hospital after the ambulance was hit. Looking around he decided this had to be true, this was definitely a hospital room.

"Fuck..." suddenly he remembered the most important thing about today. Yes he was poisoned, but there was a way out. Somewhere was an antidote, hidden in a package in the city.

Slowly, Carl sat up. His stomach hurt like hell, but he'd fight through the pain, he had to. No way was he going to lie here in this hospital waiting for whatever was in his system to run its course.

"Damn." Carl grunted as he pulled the needle out of his arm and got to his feet.

The heart monitor started blaring as he peeled off the clip from his finger and started out into the hall. The hospital was in an uproar about something, but it wasn't him.

"...nickname...eight ball..." a doctor said hurriedly while he and a couple paramedics pushed a bloody black man past Carl. "Gunshot wound to the back...this whole day is a mess..." they rolled right out of earshot.

Carl moved back into his room and started searching the drawers of the stand next to the hospital bed. He need his beeper, without it he wouldn't know where the next package was.

"Thank god." he breathed a sigh of relief when he found the beeper along with his bloody clothing.


	5. Fragile Alliance

**Carl:**

Carl stepped onto the sidewalk, his hand on his side. The gunshot wounds hadn't healed yet, and they probably wouldn't if he left the hospital now. But what choice did he have? His only options were stay and let the gunshots heal while the poison running through his veins slowly killed him, or go out and look for the antidote before he bled out. Those weren't much in the way of options, but Carl made his decision.

The only problem he faced, what did he do now? The beeper was silent, he had no clue where Tommy or Claude had gone and no real way of finding out except for following the trails of destruction and mayhem left behing in their wake.

So what should he do?

"Steal a car for one." Carl muttered to himself, looking around the street. The ambulance was still in the middle of the intersection in front of the hospital, meaning no traffic was going through, and Carl didn't see any parked cars. "Shit." he hissed before deciding on a direction to start walking in. Saint Marks...there'd be a car there he could take.

HONK HONK!

The horn would have sent Carl jumping if not for the pain in his side. "The fuck!" he whipped around to see a squat green manana pull up onto the sidewalk next to him. "What the hell man!" the manana stopped next to him and for a brief moment Carl thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

The driver of the manana opened the passenger door for Carl. "No..." Carl breathed. "You motherfucker!" it was Claude.

Despite the pain in his side Carl started to lunge at the mute bastard. The pistol Claude pulled out of his jacket made Carl think twice.

"What? You come to finish the job you started at the strip club?" Carl yelled, holding his arms out. "Do it then! End this bullshit!"

Claude rolled his eyes and smirked while motioning with his pistol for Carl to get into the car.

"Why the hell would i go with you?" Carl sneered.

Claude dug into his jacket pocket with his free hand, producing a balled up piece of paper that he promptly threw at Carl.

Carl caught the ball. "What's this?" he unballed the paper.

'**Staunton Subway Station. Locker number seventeen**.'

"The hell...?" Carl read the paper twice before things clicked in his head. Claude was bleeding badly from a wound at the back of his head, and Vercetti was nowhere in sight. "This is where the next package is...and you want my help against that asshole, right?"

Claude nodded.

"We kill him...then we kill each other?" Carl shook his head ruefully. "Well...it's better than running around like chickens with our heads cut off." he muttered, sliding into the manana's passenger seat.

**Tommy:**

Tommy scrambled down the steps into the subway station. The place was crowded, wall to wall with the unwashed masses of Liberty City. A sense of nostalgia crept up on Tommy as he pushed through the crowd towards the lockers. A lifetime ago this had been a common occurence in his life, getting on the subway. Being back in town brought back a lot of memories, if he had the time he might have even enjoyed himself.

"Seventeen..." he muttered, walking up the row of lockers. "Ah hah." he stopped in front of the locker and jammed the key into the lock.

Hope rose in Tommy. Inside the locker was a small ornate wooden box. Slowly he peeled back the lid.

"What?" he gasped. Inside the box was a phone. It started ringing. Without thinking he grabbed the phone and hit the answer button. "Hello?"

"Tommy, good to hear your voice." it wasn't the same voice as the one back in the warehouse. It was almost familiar but not quite. "If i'd gotten one of the others well," the voice snorted. "Let's just say this would be a very difficult conversation, one doesn't talk and the other has never met me in person."

"Who the fuck is this?" Tommy growled. "Answer me!" he ignored the stares of passerby.

"Why, i'm the only person that can save you from this predicament...don't say you've forgotten me already...it's only been a decade and a half."

"I met a lot of people in the eighties, refresh my memory." Tommy growled, looking around the station, wondering if someone was watching him.

"Why Tommy, it's me, Donald Love."

"Name doesn't ring a bell." Tommy shook his head, keeping his eyes peeled. Something didn't feel right.

"Avery's assistant." Donald growled. "I carried that old bastard single handedly through the eighties and early nineties. We've met on several occasions. I'm genuinely hurt you don't remember me." Love said in mock pain.

"Oh...right...now i remember you." Tommy lied, though an image of a dorky boy in a bad suit and glasses popped into his mind for a brief moment. "So, you're the one doing this then? You fucking poisoned me?" he was barely keeping the fury in check. If Love had done this Tommy wanted to get close to him, he had to. After getting the antidote he would beat love to death.

"Most certainly." Love replied happily. "How else was i going to test my company's new line of energy pills?"

"Energy pills!" Tommy screamed again. "This whole time we've been running around thinking we were poisoned and you gave us nothing but energy pills!" Tommy kicked a locker, nearly breaking the door off. "When i find you...i swear, i'm going to rip your goddamned ba-"

Love cut Tommy off with a laugh. "My dear boy, you're still going to die. You see, the side effects of these pills are fatal. Your heart will eventually beat itself to pieces inside of your chest."

"So there's no cure then?" Tommy closed his eyes and leaned against the row of lockers. For one brief moment he'd felt hope, real hope, that everything was going to be okay. "Why us?...Why Carl and the mute then? You don't know them."

"I know them both, but our history is none of your business." Love spat. "Needless to say i needed guinea pigs and i thought to myself, why not do the world a favor? Kill the three most notorious criminals in the country's history while simultaneously getting great testing data."

"You're fucking sick." Tommy growled. "Why tell me now? Huh? Why send us on the fool's errand of finding packages?"

"Because it's funny." Love chuckled. "We've been watching live feeds streaming from cameras we placed in the locations we set up...of course someone tried to ruin our little game by getting Cipriani involved...but we took care of that mess. Some sore loser who can't take losing a bet." Love cleared his throat. "As to why i've told you...i didn't lie Tommy, there is a cure. You see, while i've been enjoying watching the three of you scurry about killing everyone and trying to kill each other there's an issue..." he sucked in a breath through his teeth. "I have a flight to catch, a business deal has come up and i have to leave the city in another hour so...i'm going to save your life and end this little game of mine."

Tommy sneered. "Oh you're all heart." he grumbled. "I'm listening then, where's this cure?" if it was real he'd take it then track Love down.

"It's in-" Love's words were drowned out by gunshots.

**Claude:**

Carl was following close behind Claude, making sure to keep the man in his sights at all time. Claude couldn't blame him really, he'd shot the poor bastard in the stomach, more or less killed him. In his shoes Claude would be reluctant to walk in front of him too.

"...where's this cure?" Tommy's voice drifted above the roar of the crowd trying to make their train on time.

Claude tapped Carl on the shoulder and started to scan the area. Vercetti was near...so very near. No...the idiot had actually stayed in front of the lockers. How dumb was this guy?

"I don't...shit, there he is!" Carl grabbed his pistol from the waist of his jeans and opened fire. Three shots rang out, two going into the crowd, the other hitting the locker next to Vercetti's head.

"Shit!" Tommy dropped the phone and drew his own weapon while simultaneously moving from the locker. "You assholes! Do you know what you've done!" he pulled the trigger, the shot going wide into another pedestrian, sending the unlucky sould to the ground clutching his throat and letting out a gargling scream.

The sudden eruption of gunfire sent those in the station, not fighting for their lives, into a panic.

Before Claude could line a shot up on Vercetti he was being pushed and pulled as the crowd started a mass exodus from the station.

"Fuck!" Carl yelled, falling to the ground covering his head as people trampled him to flee the scene.

Tommy hugged a wall, pressing into it as hard as he could to avoid being dragged out of the station or trampled.

Eventually the trio were alone, except for the three people their missed shots had hit.

Claude had lost his gun while struggling against the current of bodies. Looking around the station's floor he spotted Carl's lying next to a trash can.

"Freeze!" Vercetti spat, putting a round into Claude's foot. "Do you have any idea what you just did? Do you! I was done, i had the cure in my hands!" he put another bullet into Claude's leg, making him fall back onto the floor. "We're all dead now, fucking dead! Because of you two!" he put another shot into Claude's shoulder. "I'm going to shoot you in every body part then spend the rest of my short time left on this earth watching you bleed ou-" Tommy went to one knee screaming.

Carl was behind him, smoking pistol in hand. "Where's the cure!" he yelled, pressing the gun into the back of Tommy's head. "If you had it, where is it now?"

"It's...i didn't physically have it." Tommy started to turn but stopped with another scream as Carl pierced his right ear with a bullet. "You fucking asshole! I...I can't hear anything out of that ear now...i'm go-"

Carl kicked Tommy in the back. "Shut the fuck up and talk! What about the cure!"

"Some asshole, Love, Donald Love! He has it!" Tommy yelled. "In there...in the locker was a phone...he called me on it...told me everything, how we're nothing but test subjects for some new product of his."

Claude's eyebrows raised. Donald Love? He hadn't seen that bastard in years...not since he'd disappeared mysteriously, some said to the orient to find some plant rumored to give one near endless stamina.

"You're lying!" Carl growled. "You found another package, right? You're fucking hiding it!"

"No, it's the truth...said this was some game to him that he had to cut short...he was about to tell me where the cure was when you assholes started shooting!" Tommy spat at Claude.

"So we find this guy then." Carl said simply. "Make him give us all the cure."

"I don't know where he is!" Tommy yelled. "I haven't been back here in years!"

Claude got to his feet, a grin on his face.

"What?" Tommy and Carl asked simultaneously.

"You know where he's at?" Carl asked hopefully.

Claude nodded and started out of the station. He knew where Love's office was...and now he knew where to find the cure. But he'd need help, Love was big money so he'd be well protected. While he distrusted both men they'd each proven beyond capable fighters.

But if Vercetti was lying?...then Claude would just kill him and keep looking for the cure...if there was one.


	6. See you in hell

**Claude:**

"Can you see me?" Tommy's voice sounded over the cheap walkie talkie that sat on the ledge next to Claude.

Claude hit the talk button on the walkie twice, signalling that he did indeed see the chubby shape of Tommy Vercetti through the scope of rifle, slowing the bright yellow cab to a halt just outside of the love media offices.

"Carl?" Tommy's voice sounded over the walkie again.

"Yeah." Carl's voice sounded strained. He was dying from bloodloss...why either Claude or Tommy trusted the most important part of this job to the dead man wasn't entirely clear. It might have had something to do with Claude being unable to fly a helicopter while Tommy's failing eyesight made him a bad choice for both flying and sniping. "Your guy gave me shit about it, but i got it."

"Phil doesn't trust just anyone..." Tommy muttered. "It got everything i asked for?"

"Yeah." Carl croaked over the walkie. "I'll...be there...when you signal."

"Good."

Claude watched Tommy through the scope as the bright yellow cab took a sharp turn, cutting through the oncoming lane and smashing through the lobby doors of the love media building.

The cars and people on the street froze, watching and waiting like sharks in the water, hoping to see some blood and gore. Claude watched the wreckage that used to be the front entrance to the love media building. If Tommy had died then Claude and Carl would fall back to plan B which was a lot messier and more dangerous in the end.

The world seemed to shake as the cab exploded, destroying the first floor of the love media building and rocketing debris and shrapnel out into the street.

"Christ." Tommy's voice came weakly over the walkie. "There were guards waiting for me, i almost didn't make it to the elevators before that thing went off."

"That the signal?" Carl asked.

"Yeah, that's the signal." Tommy said dryly, and Claude had a feeling he'd rolled his eyes during the reply.

"I'll be there in ten." Carl said.

"Claude, you have eyes on Love?" Tommy asked.

Claude peered through the scope of his rifle and scanned the building across the street from the one he sat on. Most of the floors were dark, a few still had lights on...the one at the very top was lit up like a christmas tree...inside...inside sat a group of men, smoking drinking and doing various illegal substances...and were those...dead bodies lying on the table?

Jesus christ, Love was...Claude chewed back the bile that rose in his throat and clicked the walkie three times, signalling for the top floor.

"Alright, keep me covered when i'm up-" Tommy fell short as the building went dark.

"You get shot in the head old man?" Carl's voice sounded over the walkie once more.

A long pause, which Claude used to scan the building for Love-still upstairs, but he suddenly seemed very alarmed- when: "The power cut out." Tommy muttered. "Fire alarm-" this Claude could hear over the walkie. "I'm trapped in this gold plated coffin."

"Great." Carl chuckled. "Listen, look for a panel, or something...i'm almost there, i don't plan on sticking around too damn long," not like he had a choice one way or the other. "Cops are coming out in full force, headed your way."

"Shit." Tommy spat. "Alright...alright...I see a hatch in the ceiling, Claude, keep eyes on Love, make sure he doesn't get out."

Claude kept the scope on the top floor, watching as Love and his panicked associates started to pack up their toys. Two armed men entered the room, Love spun on his heel and the two started nodding as he gave them orders.

Time to let Love know they were there. Claude took aim and fired, the first bullet flew through the window, killing one man, then the other, both shots taken right over Love's shoulders.

Love's party guests started to scramble around the room, some dove under the table, others made for the door, one even hid under a corpse.

The ones headed for the door fell short, bullets in their backs. Love himself dove for the table.

**Tommy:**

Tommy grunted as he slid onto the top of the elevator. "Jesus christ. " he muttered, rolling onto his back and panting. He was getting too old for this shit, far too old.

Tommy eventually climbed to his feet and started looking around. "Now how in the hell...?" as his mind scrambled to find a way to get out of the elevator shaft the elevator doors opened.

Gunfire erupted below as the bullets ripped into the elevator.

"What the fuck?" a voice came from below. "Where is he?"

"Maybe he got off on another floor." another suggested.

Tommy grabbed the gun from his waistband and jumped back into the elevator, landing on his ass with a grunt.

"FUCK!" two men with assault rifles stood in the doorway.

Tommy brought the pistol up and fired, emptying the clip in seconds.

When the smoke cleared and his vision adjusted to the sudden darkness, two new bodies lay at his feet in rapidly expanding pools of blood. Tommy slowly got to his feet, rubbing his lower back and wondering if he'd broken something in the fall.

"Nevermind," he said into the walkie. "Made it out." he bent down and grabbed one of the dead men's assault rifle, checked the body for spare ammo then got moving. "Claude, Love still up there?" he got two clicks as a response. "This would be much easier if you spoke." he muttered, stashing the cheap walkie in his back pocket and moving away from the elevators. "Where are the damn stairs?" he hissed, walking around the garishly decorated office hall. Golden statues of Love standing next to various people, horrible paintings...talk about a self involved prick.

**Carl:**

"I'm here." Carl said, looking down at the massive building. In the streets below he saw nothing but flashing red lights and smoke. "Cops everywhere down there." he muttered. "Where you at old man?"

"Forty...three." Tommy panted through the walkie. "Seven more floors to go...guys with guns everywhere, it's fucking crazy."

"Don't get your ass shot off before you get to the roof, wouldn't want to have to do this myself." Carl chuckled as he pushed the helicopter down in between the maze of buildings, circling the love media building. "Claude, anyone on the roof?" he asked weakly, his vision suddenly blurred.

Claude clicked twice, affirmative.

"Shit...do somethin about them, i gotta land...don't wanna...don't wanna..." Carl was so tired suddenly...so damn tired. "Run out of...fuel..." the helicopter veered sharply to the left, the rotors missing a building by inches.

"God damn, i saw that!" Tommy's voice sounded from the walkie. "You forget that buildings and helicopters don't go together...you there?"

**Claude:**

Claude watched as the helicopter piloted by Carl narrowly missed the love media building.

"Carl, you alive?" Tommy asked, over the walkie, a trickle of panic audible in the question. "Carl god damn it, answer me!"

Claude watched the helicopter suddenly shot up into the sky. Claude couldn't help but feel a bit of Tommy's panic too as the chopper rose and then spun suddenly to the side, going down towards the roof of the love media building.

If Claude would have said anything as the helicopter went on a collision course for the roof of the building it probably would have been: "Oh shit."

The helicopter slammed into the roof of the building, skidding across the cement and stopping on the edge, teetering precariously.

"What the hell was that?" Tommy's voice snapped over the radio.

Claude shook his head and sighed. Their ride had landed, that's what.

**Tommy:**

"Carl...CARL!" Tommy spat before throwing the walkie to the ground. "FUCK!" he was stuck now. The lobby was rubble thanks to the car bomb, there was no way out down there...and without Carl and the helicopter there was no way out in the air.

There was nothing to do but sit...no...no there was still the job, still Donald Love to kill. He passed the shattered remains of the cheap walkie talkie on his way to the stairs, keeping low and his rifle up.

"I heard something-"

Tommy spun around and pulled the trigger, cutting down a janitor and a security guard. "Shit...tough luck." he muttered, turning around and running for the stairs. He'd caught his second wind...maybe it was just the realization he was dead no matter what he did now, or maybe it was the hate coursing through his veins, the hate for Donald Love, the hate that this was happening to him HIM of all people.

A blur of running, panting, and trying not to throw up later Tommy was on the top floor.

There was only a hallway, a door, an elevator, and a set of stairs leading up to the roof. Outside of the door stood three armed guards. Tommy didn't stop moving, he looked down the sight and pulled the trigger, spraying the three men with a hail of bullets. Their bodies fell to the floor in various positions that Tommy paid no mind to. This was it, the endgame. What did he care about anyone or anything else other than the end of Donald Love's life?

"LOVE!" Tommy yelled as he kicked the doors to the conference room open. "I've come for my antidote!"

Men and women clad in overpriced suits scrambled to hide under anything they could, under chair or tables, even a naked corpse covered in various bodily fluids.

"Please don't kill us!" one pasty chubby man moaned before he squirmed his way deeper under the fat corpse lying on top of him.

"Where's Love!" Tommy yelled, moving over to the corpse and kicking it off of the man. "WHERE!" he spat, shoving the gun into the man's face.

"Wh-When...oh jesus..." the chubby man started crying. "When the...he-helicopter crashed...h-he ran out...fo-for the roof!"

"The roof? Shit!" Tommy spun on his heel and ran out of the room, headed for the stairs once more.

**Claude:**

Claude watched Tommy sprint out of the boardroom before he moved the scope back up to the roof where Love and his assortment of bodyguards were making their way to the crashed helicopter.

Tommy burst through the door behind Love and his men.

Claude clenched his teeth and lined up his shot, dropping one bodyguard and then another, noticing Love running for the helicopter while his men stayed behind to die.

**Carl:**

Carl was vaguely aware of gunshots, of yelling and screaming and someone...fondling him?

"Whuh?" his eyes opened just enough to see a sweaty man in a suit trying to pull him out of the helicopter.

"Love!" Somone screamed in the background as the gunfire died down. "I've come for you you fat fuck!" the voice was familiar...Carl just couldn't think of a name for some reason. "You thought you could poison me? ME!" the sweaty man turned from Carl.

"Tommy, calm down, it was-" Love fell to one knee as Tommy shot him in the stomach. "Oh...jesus..."

"Fuck your excuses and fuck you!" Tommy shot Love in the shoulder. "The antidote, now, or i aim lower!"

"Tommy...oh god...please...listen..." Love seemed to choke back tears or blood, Carl couldn't tell from his position. "If you kill me you'll never get it."

"Tell me or i'll make you tell me," Tommy spat, running up and kicking Love to the ground, keeping Love pinned under his loafer. "and that would be very unpleasant for you."

"Fine...it's in-" Love grabbed Tommy's leg and threw him back. Tommy stumbled and fell to the ground. Love took his chance and scrambled to his feet before rushing to the helicopter to once more struggle with the straps holding Carl in place. "God damn it...come on!" he gripped the belt and started shaking. "unhook damn you-"

Carl grabbed the pistol from his waistband and put it to Love's chest. "See you in hell." he gasped before pulling the trigger.

"NO!" Tommy screamed as Love fell back, a bloody hole where his heart should have been. "God damn it, no!" dropping his rifle he ran over to Love's corpse and knelt down beside it. "Tell me! Hurry!" but it was too late, Love was gone. "FUCK!" he picked up the rifle and stormed over to the downed helicopter. "You bastard! Why?" he put the gun to Carl's head.

Carl snorted and smiled weakly. "I ain't gonna make it...if i'm gonna die we all are." he coughed and blood poured from his mouth down over his chin. "See you in he-" Carl's head snapped back as Tommy put a bullet in it.

**Claude:**

Claude sat on the roof of the building across the street, staring in shock. He'd seen everything through the scope of his rifle.

Not like this...he couldn't die like this...Catalina couldn't kill him, Leone couldn't kill him, the entire fucking city had tried to kill him and he'd walked away without a scratch. To die from poison...it seemed a weak way to go out after everything he'd survived.

"Claude." Tommy's voice came over the walkie. "It's over...Love is dead..." Claude peered through the scope of the rifle and saw Tommy standing next to Carl's corpse, talking into Carl's cheap walkie talkie. "I tried..." Tommy squinted as he looked across the street to the figure sitting on the roof. "We still have...a day left, give or take, i don't even remember...maybe-" he paused as a police helicopter appeared over the building, pointing its spotlight straight at Tommy. "...maybe you can find it still."

"Get on your fucking stomach!" a voice snapped from the helicopter. "Now!"

"See you in hell Claude." Tommy said before he dropped the walkie and brought his rifle up. Claude watched as Tommy opened fire on the helicopter, his bullets making little dents in the metal when suddenly a man leaned out of the helicopter and took aim. For a moment Claude thought of shooting the man and letting Tommy finish, but he only sat there, watching as Tommy fell to the ground, cut down in a hail of bullets.

Claude dropped the rifle over the ledge, letting it fall to the road before he turned and walked back to the fire escape. What was he supposed to do now? Carl and Tommy were dead...and so was his last hope of surviving...fuck, he had nothing left. In less than two days he'd be dead, his heart would beat itself to pieces in his chest. What was left?

*BEEP*

The pager? Claude slid his hand into his pocket and fished the pager out. Looking down at the little hunk of plastic in his hand his eyes widened.

**You win round one. **


End file.
